You Can't Run
by ImpavidAngel
Summary: Dean, Sam, and Castiel stumbled upon a witch's curse while researching a case. Dean, being himself, awakens the curse, sucking the three of them into a vortex full of nothing. A place where time doesn't even exist. When the boys got out, the past had caught up to them. You truly can't run from the past.


Dean and Sam sat at the long table in the bunker, researching for a case. Castiel came from the storage room with a few boxes stacked in his hands. "This is all I could find." He said as he placed them on the edge of the table.

Sam looked up from a file and gave Castiel a small smile. "Thank you, Cas."

"You're Welcome." He replied before taking a seat. "What are we dealing with this time?"

"We believe it might be a wraith."

"Might be?"

"Yeah, The Vics all have the same puncture wound that leads to the brain, but everything is intact. The brain wasn't dried or sucked in anyway."

"Yeah, which as we all know, isn't usual for a wraith." Dean mumbled over a mouthful of food. "And the Vics have nothing in common. There is no pattern what-so-ever."

"Vic number one committed suicide in an alley. She was a twenty-two year old college girl. Vic number two was a forty-six homeless guy." Sam informed the angel. "The girl killed the homeless guy. The cops say she killed him and then put a bullet in her own head, but I think otherwise."

"It just spells out fishy." Dean said while rummaging through a box. The sandy-haired male pulled out a smaller, wooden box. "Hey guys, what does this have to do with Wraiths?" He asked, slowly opening the box.

Red silk lined the inside of the box, a silver cross lay in its own indented shape. The cross had a few sigils engraved into it. On the lid, there was an ancient language sloppily carved into it.

"Hey Cass, do you know what this is?"

"It's Theban."

"What?"

"It's a language used by witches." Castiel said and then ran his fingers across the carvings. "It says this: you can't run."

"Run from what?" Dean asked before opening the box once more.

"It doesn't say."

"Well there's one way to find out." Dean looked at the angel, a smirk dancing onto his face. Before the angel could protest, Dean had the strange cross out of the box and in his hand.

"I don't understand. It's not doing anythi-" Dean hissed in pain and quickly dropped the cross as a row of spikes retreated back into the cross, pain revealed in his eyes. A red, puffy burn mark in the shape of the cross appeared right afterward along with a row of puncture wounds down the mark. He looked at the holes in his hand as blood seeped out of them, "Son of a Bitch!" He hollered and shook his hand as if that would shake out the excruciating pain, of course, it wouldn't though.

The three of them stared at the cross as it slid across the room, it violently shook before shooting up into the air. It twisted and contorted into a black vortex, sucking in everything.

"What did you do?!" Castiel yelled over the howling winds.

Dean looked over at the angel, "I don't know." He yelled back before being nicked in the shoulder by a book. The green-eyed hunter looked over his shoulder just in time to see the book disappear into the vortex. Dean, with fear in his eyes, gripped at the corner of the wall as the gust of winds became stronger.

Sam had to use all of his strength to make it over to his brother's side. When he finally reached him, he too grabbed the wall. "What's going on, Dean?!" The two of them watched as the one of the table where the Men of Letters once held meetings slid across the floor making a noise that resembled nails on a chalkboard.

"You think I know?" Dean said sarcastically just before the table flipped, and flew directly into the eye of the vortex.

"Well you are the one who's responsible for this!"

"This is not my fault! I didn't know what was gonna happen!" Dean protested.

"Then you shouldn't have played around with it!" Sam argued back when the two brothers were hit by another flying table.

"Sam!" Dean screamed, desperately reaching out to his brother. The hunters were sucked into the vortex along with the angel. Dean watched as time seemed to slow as he disappeared into the vortex and the eye closed, leaving them in utter darkness. Space seemed to diminish and shatter leaving only blinding light. It was as if the darkness was shattering into millions of pieces, and then time sped up until everything was nothing but a blur. Then everything was back to normal.

The bunker was back in perfect condition, no book or papers strewn around. The tables were lined back up and had all of the previous files on it. The vortex was also gone. It was as if the whole incident was just an act of an overactive imagination.

"What the Fuck?"

"What is going on?" Sam looked around the room, sliding his hand across the table and picking up files as if they're not real.

"The real question is: what was that thing?" Dean said while sitting down at the table. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and let out a soft sigh.

"It was a Time Vortex also called a Time Pocket." Castiel and Sam also sat down. "The Archangels would use them as a torture method."

"A torture method?"

"Yes. The angels would put the worse of the imprisoned into these Time Vortexes. See, time seems to stop in the vortexes."

"Yeah. I've noticed." Dean scoffed mainly to himself.

"One minute in the Vortex could be ten years in the real world, or time could actually stop."

"But what happened to us?" asked Sam.

"I think time stopped for us, but I'm not quite sure why." Castiel looked at Dean and then at Sam before giving the two of them an apologetic look. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Cas." Dean smiled.

The three of them were getting ready to sleep off the events that had happened earlier. Castiel was in the storage room putting the files back, Dean was sitting at the table with his feet propped up on the table and snacking on candy while Sam read a book.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" Dean asked, holding a piece of candy out to his brother.

"For the tenth million time Dean. I don't want any candy."

Dean held his hands up, "Okay, Okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch, Samantha."

"Don't call me that." Sam sigh exasperatedly, and then slammed his book shut. He placed it on the table and stood up. "I'm going to get some sleep," Sam looked at his brother, "see you tomorrow."

"See ya." Dean flicked his finger from his forehead toward his brother before standing up himself.

Sam closed his bedroom door behind him, collapsing on his bed only moments later. The brunette rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He heard someone rummaging through his things, and immediately he thought it was his brother.

"Dean! How many times do I have to tell you to stop touching my things?!" He asked, his voice filled with annoyance as he sat up. Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he immediately paled.

It wasn't Dean who had been rummaging through his things. He would've wanted Dean instead of _him_. The one and only Lucifer.

"Hello Sammy. I'm home!" A toothy grin greeted him.


End file.
